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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA, t 



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POEMS 






BY 



& Z. SHORES. 



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PUBLISHED FOR THE AUTHOR BY 

J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO. 
1872. 



.633 



Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1872, by 

S. Z. SHORES, 
In the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington. 



CONTENTS. 



PAGB 

Lucy Lee 5 

Guilt 13 

II Penseroso 29 

Fairy land 30 

Margaret 31 

Lines written on hearing of the passing of the Local 

Option Law 45 

Julie . . .46 

Insect Life 47 

Music: of Nature 47 



(iii) 



POEMS. 



LUCY LEE. 

An artless girl was Lucy Lee, 
Marked out for grief and misery ; 
By parents left, when but a child, 
Alone, upon Earth's dreary wild. 

The world might frown, but still she grew,- 
As well in heart as stature, too. 

I cannot write in patience this ; 
I*d rather paint a world of bliss. 
But she was, from the very first, 
With all that's blest, to others, curst: 
Curst with a form both full and fair ; 
Curst with a face divinely rare ; 
With passions curst, strong to control ; 
Curst with a body and a soul ; 
Curst both with wit and virgin pride ; 
And curst with poverty beside. 

Had she been silly, cold, or plain, 
Friendless then she had not remained. 

Who shall endure the cruel spite 
Of wealth, and envy's utmost might, — 
The slander, breathed from lip to lip. 
That thrives on poison it doth sip, — 

I* (s) 



LUCY LEE, 

The many slights — the taunts and sneers — 
That young hearts blight and conscience sears ? 
These all were hers ; and yet she stood 
An angel in that multitude. 

The carmine of her ruddy cheek 
Belied the import of their speech, 
Yet she was shunned, — was shunned by all 
Who called themselves respectable. 
They passed her in their pleasures by : 
What wonder that she gave a sigh ! 
With scorn they passed her on the road 
That led them to the house of God. 

The wounded hare, pursued in death. 
That draws in fear her latest breath, 
Hath anguish felt, — not more than she. 
Strange should it seem she sought to flee, 
To live, to breathe — no matter where — 
Some other breath than native air ? 

She started on her weary way 
Before the sun had glanced a ray. 
And while as yet the dreary night — 
With goblins in each covered place. 
And satyrs that stared in her face — 
Lent wings to terror and affright. 
The watch-dog* s bark she hears with dread ; 
She passed the tombs where lie the dead : 
The marble slabs, like spirits, stood. 
And grinned and chattered in their mood ; 
The world seemed one vast burial-ground. 
While bloodless spectres walked around. 
Shades, shadows, sounds at length became 
A something in her whirling brain. 
Which fancy pleased, to see appear 
In odd deformity so queer. 



LUCY LEE, 

But soon there stood before her face 
A real form, fixed in its place : 
With glowing eyeballs, wild and bright, 
That shone with phosphorescent light. 
Her heart stood still — with terror froze ; 
Her hair upon its end iiprose ; 
A thousand thoughts, with might and main, 
Rushed through her dazed and wearied brain ; 
A thousand deaths seemed in her eye. 
With snarl and yell the beast rushed by. 
And then there came a welcome bark, — 
A dog had passed her in the dark. 

Now wearied limbs and painful head 
Permit no more her path to tread. 
But, with a low and wailing sound, 
She sank upon the humid ground. 
With sluggish sense, and wearied eye. 
She gazed upon the ashen sky : 
Like embers shone the distant stars, 
With many-tinted glowing bars. 
And silent all, yet each alone 
Peculiar beauty had, its own ; 
And one there was, that seemed so fair 
An angel of the upper air. 
In pity stooped, in mercy shone. 
Inviting her to their bright home. 
It was, she knew, a vain conceit. 
But still to her the thought was sweet : 
Her mother might be dwelling there. 
That angel of the upper air, — 
She watched it with a charmed gaze. 
Until there stole a kind of haze 
That seemed to quench its gentle light ; 
At length it faded from her sight. 



LUCY LEE. 

'Tis morn ! Grim spectres fly 
Away from sight of every eye ; 
Hands all unseen night's curtains rolled, 
And shed o'er earth a flood of gold. 
Before her lay the distant plain, 
The verdant groves, the fields of grain ; 
And, on the verge of earth and sky. 
The city's spires she can descry. 

All day she walked, with sluggish pace ; 
At night was done her weary race. 
She sought and found a crust of bread. 
And where to lay her weary head. 

Weeks, months flew by ; she free from care 
As winged inhabitants of air; 
The past a horrid nightmare dream. 
The future like to Eden seemed \ 
Blithe as the lark, fleet as the hind. 
And sportive as the summer wind, — 
Free from mistrust, suspicious hate, 
From envy free, of wealth and state; 
No fairer form : voluptuousness 
Was beauty in its own excess. 

Love came to her, it comes to all ; 
Some by it rise, and others fall ; 
And while there came on bended knee 
A hundred men of high degree. 
Who worshiped beauty's chosen shrine 
With gold and jewels from the mine, 
A roue bold, with flattering tongue. 
Hath beauty's priceless guerdon won. 

A Count he was, of foreign birth. 
Of royal blood and wondrous worth; 
Escaped from thrall to freedom's land, 
Had left a haughty princess' hand. 



LUCY LEE, 

Wearily waiting his return 
Ere Hymen's altars incense burn. 
Their parents had the bargain made 
With all the scheming arts of trade ; 
No love was in the barter thrown, 
Yet love to him, and love alone 
Was all he sought ; fruition, bliss. 
Foretaste of heaven in worlds like this ; 
But, that there might be no miscarriage, 
She must consent to private marriage. 

The rovers free of Earth and air. 
When found within the fowler's snare, 
May struggle fiercely, still in vain ; 
No heart compassionates their pain. 
No force prevails to make them sing, 
And useless flaps the vapid wing. 

A month had scarcely passed away 
Since she became the gambler's prey, 
When, waking up one pleasant morn, 
Beside her lay a stranger's form. 
Her screams and cries brought witnesses 
To gibe and mock at her distress ; 
'^The * Count's mistress of late became 
Particular," they said, ^' in shame." 
The pompous landlord ordered soon 
That she should leave her quiet room, 
And servants pack her scanty bundle. 
Which forth into the streets they tumble; 
Herself they next drag out, and then — 
She scarce knew more — her reeling brain 
Hath felt a momentary shock 
As bolts flew in the willing lock. 

O Love, how mighty is thy power ! 
How full thy recompense ! The hour 



lO LUCY LEE, 

Of thy fruition shall endure 

In memory forever pure. 

But her fond heart was robbed of love, 

And in its place was left a stain, 
Which was her utmost strength above 

Erasing. What to her was shame ? 
Her heart had been a garden rare, 
Where flowers were blooming fresh and fair,- 
Watched long by hope, watered by tears, 
The only wealth of all her years ; 
Her heart is now a garden torn 
By ruthless beasts, — the hedge overthrown, — 
A waste, to which no future spring 
Or birds or flowers shall ever bring. 

Some seize the bowl to drown their grief; 
Some rush unbid to death's relief; 
To some, when fades life's light away 
While yet 'tis early youthful day, 
Is madness sent. In mercy some 
Are called to their eternal home ; 
While others, left in fetters here. 
Eat prison fare — shed prison tears, — 
Feel viewless walls their forms surround : 
For them is pardon never found ; 
Their only hope while yet they live 
Is for death's long-delayed reprieve. 

But she, bereft of love and pride. 
Robbed of her own good name beside, 
Without a friend in all the world. 
Into the gulf of ruin hurled — 
Ruthless the stern decrees of fate — 
Her heart was broken, desolate. 
Still sat she on the rigid stone. 
Suppressed her sighs and stifled groans. 



LUCY LEE, II 

The hours went by with measured pace, 
The sun sank down, and in his place 
The moon arose serene and fair. 
Still like a marble statue there 
Her place she kept, and hour by hour 
Swept o'er her frame some mystic power, 
That spoke with tongues of lurid flame 
Of all her wrongs and all her shame ; 
And then with accents new and strange 
Spoke of the sweets of dire revenge. 

^' Man is your foe,'* the siren spoke, 
^* For him prepare the iron yoke, 
Rob him of wealth and manhood's pride. 
Drive him to shame or suicide; 
Deep make him drink the poisoned bowl, 
Destroy his life, destroy his soul.*' 

She rose, how changed ! — a demon's ire 
Flashed from her eyes of liquid fire; 
Soon 'neath the gaslight's lurid glare 
She stood a fallen angel there. 
Her kirtles scarcely reached her knee. 
Her supple limbs in symmetry 
Were faultless formed. The driven snow 
Vied with her bosom's whiter glow; 
Warm was her cheek ; her teeth of pearl ; 
Her hair strayed free in many a curl ; 
Her lips were coral, and a spell 
Seemed in her voice, whose cadence fell 
In silvery tones so sweet and clear 
Upon the charmed listener's ear. 

Where women, wine, and game conspire 
The heart to hold, the brain to fire, 
The courser runs at headlong speed, 
The brain must reelj the heart must bleed ; 



12 LUCY LEE, 

Yet nothing save the lack of goM 
His onward course or speed can hold. 

A thousand men, gray-bearded sires, 
When lost their vigor's wonted fires, 
In the mad revel and the bowl 
Shall curse thee for their wretched fall ; 
A thousand youth, who seek for pleasure 
Full brimming, sparkling, without measure. 
Shall find the dregs worse far than gall ; 
Before their prime, age claims them all. 
A thousand graves you shall have made, 
A thousand victims in them laid. 

The Count ere long his journey made 
To the dread realms of Pluto's shade; 
Vain pomp and splendors still attend. 
Accounts are settled, here's his end : 
A blighted life — a tarnished name, — 
Record of evil and of shame. 

Passion's a flame that doth devour 
ThOk brightest tints of sweetest flowers ; 
And Lucy Lee, haggard and wan. 
But not with weight of years, hath gone : 
No stalwart sons or daughters fair 
Her pristine wealth of beauty share ; 
Alone, without a friendly hand. 
She passed into the shadow-land ; 
The kindly Earth her sins hath hid 
Beneath the coffin's darksome lid, 
And shall from shame forever shield 
Her unwept grave in Potter's field. 



GUILT. 



13 



GUILT. 

Of all that broke the gates of hell, and o'er 
The Earth obtained control, the mightiest 
And most renowned was Guilt. His form was gaunt 
And bent, resembling age; upon his face 
Sat haggard woe and care. His tearless eye 
Shone glittering beneath his heavy brow, 
And, save that ever and anon a sigh 
Escaped, he mastered well the deep and strong 
Emotions of his breast. Now Innocence 
Beheld, and fled as from infectious plague. 
He wandered lone and sad o'er hill and vale; . 
Nor to clear springs, or lakes, or crystal streams 
He came, unless in mist or darkness veiled, 
Lest he should see himself reflected there. 
He long had wandered sad, oppressed with grief, 
'Mid tangled wilds, and wastes, and deserts bare; 
But now he came unto a spacious cave. 
Whose dark and sombre front invited to 
Repose. And here for many months he lay. 
Enjoying one perpetual night. There came 
No visions to disturb his sleep, or to 
Amuse his wakeful hours. Well had it been 
If he in dreamless solitude had still 
Remained. At length he hears the murmuring sound 
Of many voices, and, arousing up, 
Beheld the cave with flambeaux glare 
Illumined, while 'round him stand forms once to him 
Familiar, now unwelcome guests, whom he 
Had least desired should find his place of rest. 

2 



14 



GUILT, 



Yet he forbore to speak, for well he knew 

Some great occasion called, else these would not 

His presence seek, but would prefer to fly 

From him, and seek for pleasure or repose. 

First, Malice, bending low, addressed him thus. 

With words whose cadence fell like some sad dirge 

Upon his listening ear: '' O Chief! we all 

Regret thus to disturb your sleep profound ; 

But this green Earth, so prosperous, so grand, 

So bright and beautiful, does not unto 

Our sway, as thou didst promise^ now incline, 

But rather seems resolved to follow ways 

Of virtue and of peace, of industry 

And social joys. And should there but arise 

E'en with the child harsh words of passion, lo ! 

Doth he now hear, from lips whose youthful lisp 

May not with plainness speak, of the dread mark 

Of Cain, who did his brother slay but with 

An angry blow. And thus is peace restored. 

Also the patriarch oft to his sons 

Recounts how God did brand displeasure on 

His brow, and cast him forth a vagabond 

Upon the face of the fair Earth, which brings 

To others all a plenteous supply. 

Meanwhile, thy servants have observed that true 

And faithful diligence, belonging to 

The trust reposed in us, yet have prevailed 

In naught." Then Guilt arose, and thus replied: 

^^ Existence measures not the sum of years, 

Nor marks the oft- returning seasons as 

They move perpetual, in ever-ceaseless round ; 

But joys and griefs — these weigh man to the tomb. 

And make of life a lengthened dream, and paint 

The visions which survive the wreck of time, 



GUILT. 15 

And chronicle the hours eternity 

Unfolds to those who fill its vast profound, 

Of ages limitless with deeds of good 

Or ill. Thus childhood walks in flow'ry paths. 

And lives in the sensations of new life, 

More years than all the numbers which crowd through 

His after-days. And so might manhood pass 

With vivid hopes, and warm enjoyments still. 

And days would seem as long, and life as sweet, 

And memory as perfect, as when first 

He learned the world, had not the frost of Death 

With blighting mildew stole life's vigor and 

Its freshness, ere its morning brightness yields 

To fervid hours of noon. Since life derives 

Its source the same, and spirits bloom in youth 

Immortal, thence as joyous youth, in clear 

And sparkling brilliance, paints with sunbeams that 

Each scene requires the substance of a ray, 

Each hope in soft, dissolving colors blends 

The iris tints, as bright as those that weave 

The zone of heaven-embracing Earth. Such is 

The state of innocence, that thrilling joys 

Forever welling in the breast diffuse a calm 

And sweet delight. And innocence is but 

The law of love, — the office of kind deeds 

Expressed in living acts. Alike this law 

Expansive runs from lowest sense to God. 

Behold the man whose life concordant is 

To ways of peace — beset by many foes 

On every side — he, like the arrow straight. 

Direct through veering currents swiftly flies. 

With those who seek for pleasure he hath naught ; 

Yet more of happiness to him doth fall 

Than doth to others who intent pursue, 



1 6 GUILT, 

Through lands remote, and smiling, verdant isles. 

Not to sequestered vales, or distant hills, 

Your way doth lie, where shepherds tend their flocks ; 

For these are virtue's ancient fair domains." 

Then Guile complaisant thus replied : '' 'Tis not, 

Dear Chief, my object now to disapprove 

Thy well-delivered counsel ; yet would I, 

With thy permission granted, speak of what 

Pertains unto our commonwealth, wherein 

Is man for our convenience formed, and to 

Be tried * so as by fire.' Consider now 

The means at our command. Earth hath a store 

Of minerals and gems, of untold wealth. 

From pastoral pursuits let us now turn 

The mind of man. Let Avarice, Deceit, 

Ambition, all be well employed. And let 

Thy vesture too be changed. For gayest hues 

Lay sackcloth by, and in this work be thou 

The chief, as both by power and wisdom fit. ' ' 

Then Guilt made signal with his hand to all, — 

They straight retiring left him, now alone, 

And thus in meditation he indulged : 

^' Sweet sleep, with calm forgetfulness, farewell ! 

I shall revisit thee perchance no more. 

And thou, deep shade, which art the mantle of 

Eternity, I bid thee too farewell. 

Hence shall my footsteps wander, as I frame 

Resolve, what means may best result in the 

Complete and total overthrow of good ; 

And in its place establish ill. But first. 

The way of vice shall be o'erstrewn with flowers, 

And groves on either side resound with soft. 

Enchanting melody. And here shall walk 

My servants, whom I will make princes, lords, 



GUILT, 

And rulers of the realm. This way shall seem 

Most fit to walk therein, and much to be 

Preferred to virtue's rugged path; but lo, 

It leadeth surely to the gates of death !" 

Thus musing, forth with slow and measured step 

He went unto a mountain, whence the Earth 

Outspreading far before him lay, — a map 

With forests and with grassy meads portrayed. 

Death, on the summit of a summer's cloud, 

Above some vast, devoted city, where 

The plague her yellow harvest ripe cuts down, 

Reposes on a molten throne of gold. 

With softest ermine overspread : so Guilt, 

Serene, sat on the mountain's height. He sees 

The ways, the walk, the manners, customs, laws, 

The politics and faith of man, — observes 

The arts, which captivate and lead astray. 

Then he arose, and went unto the shore 

That bounds the ocean's flow, and thus he spake 

Unto the watery flood : ^^ Send forth your mists. 

Those exhalations now that rise, and let 

Them come and stand in solid marble walls ; 

In beauty let them stand as temples and 

As palaces, towers, battlements." And lo ! 

The flood obeyed. The mists stood up opaque, 

In solid grandeur stood magnificent ; 

And busy throngs, with hurried steps, passed to 

And fro in streets that showed a city paved. 

He spake again : ^^Here come with swiftest wing, 

Borne on the billows' waste, ye ships. Here bring 

From every clime the precious ore, rich wrought 

The fabric fine, and food delectable." 

The ships drew near, and thick as forest pines 

They stood ; and here exchange with nations all 



17 



1 8 GUILT, 

The treasures vast, of gold and silver, pearls, 

And precious stones, of myrrh and balm, of corn 

And wine. With even tread, the caravan 

Winds stately o'er the desert plain, and bears 

Inland afar the rich productions of 

The sea, perfume and spice of fragrant isles, 

The luscious drops from aromatic boughs; 

The texture fine and skillful wove, the woofs, 

Embellishments equal and accurate, 

By nice-adjusted looms produced, or else 

Luxuriant in needlework sublime ; 

And ornaments that blaze or glow, dazzle 

Or scintillate, of every hue. All these 

Their tribute pay. All these combine to raise 

In wealth, and grandeur vast above compeers, 

This city, where in majesty the throne 

Of kingdoms stood, whose sceptre awed in fear 

The tribes afar, — whose laws and faith ran with 

The circling sun. Not only were her wealth 

And power vast, beyond what we can now 

Compare, but she was blessed with fairest skies. 

That ne'er dropped down the snows, intense with cold. 

Or hard congealed the frozen hail, but that 

Oft slaked the thirsty Earth with genial rain. 

There might be seen the palm, and cedars tall, 

Whose highest boughs seemed in the sky, and trees 

That goodly were for shade, and trellised vines 

O'erarching walks, with flowers strewed profuse. 

That contemplation would approve a smile. 

From these look up the dizzying heights, where gleam, 

In solid lustre white, abodes of kings, 

With such exact proportions wrought, that each 

Of many parts composed but seems one vast 

Perfected whole. Or look beyond where is 



\\ 



GUILT, 

The scene with temples graced majestic, and 

With yellow rays of brightly burnished gold 

Reflected thence. Or yet around, what walls 

Defend, what gates protect, what guards shut out, 

What towers and battlements environ thee 

On every side ! Or where the crystalline 

Doth meet the earth, behold those mountains stand 

Encircling this — a place as if 'twere barred 

By heaven, save the narrow strait that joins 

In one the ocean wide with this, that seems 

An inland sea, or where defile winds through 

To distant plains beyond, where harvests large 

The sweaty reapers' toils repay, and sounds 

Of tinkling bell steal o'er the ear. Thus is 

Secure from outward foe, one gate by sea, 

One gate by land except. Thus Guilt 

A site to be the world's metropolis 

Fixed on, and there presided o'er; but not 

As sovereign, though oft he trode in courts. 

And oft the streets, and entered oft the domes. 

Came to the chamber where lay sleepless forms ; 

Sometimes by multitudes was seen and heard, 

But oftener, with stealthy tread unseen. 

He glided through the crowds of passers-by. 

Say where, in climes remote or near at hand, 

Stood this, the populous and powerful ? 

What era chronicled in time was laid 

Her corner-stones ? What name inscribed was hers ? 

Her date is fixed before the age of Troy. 

Her name, her founder's name, alike was Guilt. 

Within her courts was gayety, and sound 

Of viols soft, where join the circle gay 

In dance, while lamps their softest lustre shed 

O'er lovely forms bedecked with gems, that glow 



19 



20 GUILT. 

In woven wreaths like stars that garnish o'er 

The sky. On every side what matchless splendor glows! 

Behold yon statues, how divinely wrought, 

What skill displays the cast that genius lends 

The graceful form, and stamps the hero's brow ! 

And paintings, rare and beautiful, of kings 

And conquerors in coats of mail, or dressed 

In coronation robes, of landscapes gay. 

With smiling cottages, and lovely lakes. 

And mountains clad in richest vernal hues ; 

The train the monarch led in pageantry. 

Displaying spoils of war from distant lands. 

In tapestry are seen the champions 

That fight in single combat, and decide 

The fate of arms ; and gloomy fortresses, 

Took by surprise, by storm, or stratagem. 

Their massive walls thrown down or undermined ; 

The city's pillage 'midst devouring flames. 

Historic deeds commemorative of, 

That settled all the realms in empire one. 

By ancestors performed of those who now 

Have met, in revelry to spend the night. 

There sat in quiet thought, retired from gaze 

Direct, an uninvited guest. And thus 

His musings ran : ^^ Behold that haughty form, 

With glittering star, ensign of royalty : 

Is happiness within ? — whose acts show that 

He. dreads each morsel that he eats, each cup 

That bears his drink, each sword that guards his sleep, 

The kneeling suppliant imploring grace ; 

Whose eye severely scans each day precise 

The mien and countenance of those he chose. 

His favored friends, nor dares in solitude 

To pass a single day, whose nights afford 



GUILT. 21 

No quiet, peaceful rest, refreshing sleep, 
Who lives in dread of death before his time. 
How many toil, deprived of all that man 
May claim as a reward, their naked limbs 
Exposed to scorching heat, their bodies, bent 
By grievous weights imposed, or in the mine 
'Mid damp and noisome vapors rank ; urged on 
Unto their utmost strength that one may live 
In splendid guise !'' Then Guilt stepped forth among 
The guests ; his mood was pensive, yet a smile 
Oft played upon his face. Nor wanting was 
The airy jest, the quick reply, when was 
Occasion first. In dance he graceful moved, 
And lightly quaffed the red and sparkling wine. 
But now the tables groan with food piled high. 
To suit the nice, fastidious taste, were sweets 
And tarts and savory bits, which epicures 
Employ to urge the absent appetite. 
In festive glee and blithesome song they spend 
The hour of gay repast. When done, the Lyre 
Was brought, and still in listening attitude 
Was each inclined, to catch the faintest sound ; 
Then stepped the Lyrist forth, a youth he seemed. 
With eyes of blue, and golden hair that waved 
As light as passing breeze. Then he commenced, 
And to his Lyre, which all the while responds 
In sweetest melody, began : ''My Lyre, 
If aught inanimate e'er lives, then thou 
Dost feel along the chords the thrill of life 
That wakes an ecstasy and trembling joy, 
Beguiling man his tears. I've loved thy sweet 
Converse, soft as the zephyr's wing, and soothing all 
The stormy passions that disturb the breast : 
Thou hast of deeds heroic often sang. 



22 GUILT. 

And which pertains unto the glory of 

Our state ; the paean song triumphal 

Hast often led, and all that worthy was 

Thy lays did celebrate. But now, alas ! 

I know a spell is on thy strings, for I 

Can nothing sing but Love. Ye walls attend, 

And vibrate soft ; ye statues, breathe fresh life, 

With glances warm relax your stony gaze ; 

And chiefly you, ye fairest forms of Earth, 

Attentive list while I relate of Love. 

Young Love had broke the gates of heaven, and thence 

Escaped ; o'er all the Earth he roamed at will, 

At length unto the bower of Beauty came, 

A sultry summer afternoon. Asleep 

Before him Beauty lay. The wanton wind 

Had cast her gauzy covering aside. 

And then had died. Love gazed upon the round 

And smoothly polished limb, — the perfect, full. 

And gently-heaving breast, each feature scanned, 

Saw naught but loveliness, and yet she was 

As yonder statue, calm, and white and pure. 

Love said : * I am a god. To re-create, 

A subject here before me lies.' He plucked 

The lily and the rose, their softest hues 

He laid upon her cheek, then stooping down, 

He kissed her lips, and soon her face o'erspread 

With blushes, dimples, smiles. She trembling woke ; 

Love met her eyes ; alas ! for him, for in 

That fatal gaze he lost his sight. And thus 

'Tis said of Love : ' 'Twas Beauty made him blind.* 

Jove saw his plight, and in revenge gave him 

The bow, and arrows gave, and bade him shoot. 

With instinct's true unerring aim; 

No arrow flies amiss its chosen mark. 



J 



GUILT, 23 

Now Beauty's self complains with sighs and tears, 

That in her heart the shaft of Love remains/* 

Then Guilt glides through unseen the outer gate, 

And swift he wends his way until he came 

Unto a jagged cliff, that overlooks 

The sea, and thus he spake : '^ Hear me, ye winds. 

Whose sport is tempest-wrecks all idly strown. 

Go ye with softest step where revelers. 

With song and sparkling wine and dance. 

Do spend the sombre hours of night, — who gloat 

Their eyes on forms they deem surpassing fair ; 

With headache and with languor fill, until 

I shall prepare at length more potent ills/' 

Then straight he went unto the gates of hell ; 

— He needed not a convocation to 

Assemble, that he might be heard, for hell 

To utmost bound was ever sensitive 

Whene'er he spake — and thus her fiends addressed : 

^' All ye who have from Earth descended here 

Before your time, have fell from hand of the 

Assassin, unprepared to stand before 

The bar of God, a respite hence I grant, 

That ye may execute upon the sons 

Of men my purpose and your delight. 

Go ye and tread the earth, — on this, my sole 

Condition, go : ye shall with lying words 

Deceive the multitude that seek for signs. 

And trust not in the providence of God. 

If called by magii, then ye shall appear 

And feign yourselves the sons of heaven. Disguised, 

These sons ye shall by imitation seem ; 

Unmasked, ye shall afflict the bad, — shall haunt 

The scenes in which ye fell. Not yours the task 

To prompt to actions bad. This leave to those 



24 GUILT, 

That fell from spheres of light.*' Then like a host 

Of flying locusts, filling all the air 

With darkest clouds in night, — so then advanced 

Those murdered ghosts, and ere the sun had shed 

His beams, had settled all the realms of Earth, 

While Guilt in haste fast gathered up the dust 

That strewed the way of frequent concourse there. 

And cast it on the winds of Earth to spread 

Contagion in horrid forms. Meanwhile 

The Lyrist's song went on, with compliments 

To those who heard attentive, while he sung 

In rapturous strains of Love. And many wept. 

Yet smiling through their tears, so strong the sway 

Of Love in passion's ecstasy. But not 

The infinite, unbounded love of God 

He sung, nor plans advised that should bind up 

A single wound, alleviate distress. 

Or would a benefit bestow on those 

Who heard. And had not Guilt his purpose fixed, 

He had not seized occasion trivial such 

As this to vent his spite, but rather had 

Been pleased to find, from seeming pure at first, 

It quite lascivious became. When done, 

The dance went on, and wine in circles fleet 

Again went swiftly round. Thus pass the hours 

Until faint streaks of light steal o'er the sky, 

Portentous of the morn. At length the sun 

Climbs o'er the verge that separates the day 

From night, when stretched on softest couch lay those 

Who gayest seemed the night before. In drowse 

They feel dull pain pervading all their frame, 

Or as unconsciousness creeps on, night-hags 

Are ever ready there to bind their nerves 

With bands of steel. But why delay ? The day 



GUILT, 

Was passed, which was as bright as other days ; 
Yet ere its close was found in quiet grove, 
Where he for meditation had retired, 
With severed head, the Lyrist's form. His Lyre 
Lay broken by his side. By envy done 
The deed. Nor yet the muse can pause to shed 
A tear ; such is the fate of genius in 
The world. Now while in brightness shone the sun. 
There walked, as oft in innocence before, 
The fairest form of earth ; upon her cheek 
Was passion's glowing flame, ignited from 
Love's altar by the Lyrist's witching song. 
Her way wound through a thick and tangled copse, 
And near a bright, pellucid stream, where was 
A pool, — but deep and clear, and hid from sight. 
But why relate sad virtue's piteous fall ? 
The muse doth grieve that one so passing fair 
Should be so frail, — that from her cheek the rose 
Should be so rudely snatched and thrown away. 
Now shadows creep o'er all the vales and wrap 
In darkness the wide plain and mountains round, — 
Deep gloom in thickest blackness comes, and it 
Is night. There lay beside her, who his love 
Had pledged, one who by vows had led from paths 
Of rectitude a being fair ; and yet 
Whose easy virtue he had deemed fit theme 
For merriment till she, desponding, sought 
An early grave. But now he starts in fear 
As he beholds her come. With solemn step 
And slow, she wends her way, and at his side 
She stands and fixes gaze severe. Cold sweat 
Now gathers on his forehead. Shaken with 
A palsy's unresisting force he lies ; 
He hears a shriek as if in anguish wrung, 

3 



25 



26 GUILT, 

And she is gone. Yet oft 'tis said returns 

This spirit; and bodes of future ills. Away 

On billows borne was he who sought to flee 

The stroke decreed for those whose hands imbrue 

Another's blood. He looked, and soon descries 

Approaching sail as borne by swiftest winds ; 

And lo ! there stands he whom he met and slew, 

Nor pity showed, nor prayers allowed. He starts 

In fear, yet tripped by hatches falls into 

The sea ; and as his dying wail is lost 

The phantom ship dissolves from sight. There sat, 

Amid his hoarded dust, the miser wan 

With care. Around him flocked those he had drove 

Unalmsed away, though perishing with want ; 

And yet he knew his doors were barred against 

Ingress. Whence then had entered these, to him. 

Most hated visitors, that seemed to beg 

In plaintive accents, told of pressing wants ? 

These nightly came to mock his grudging soul. 

By prayers, or fiercely take what he withheld. 

In troops these ghosts walked round the earth, nor stopped 

Wherever angel guard did watch the sleep 

Of innocence. Amazement fills the hearts 

Of kings and people all, at sights like these. 

They hasten to their temples, bring the kine, 

And sacrifice to sun, and moon, and stars, 

To figures wrought of wood, and stone, and brass. 

Of silver and of gold, in forms of man, 

Beasts, fishes, insects, reptiles, birds. And call 

With loudest voice upon their gods for help. 

That shades of men no more may walk the Earth. 

Yet vengeance, crying from the ground, appeals 

To God and wakes His wrath, for Earth is filled 

With violence. The saints and prophets of 



GUILT. 



27 



The Most High walked amid her cliffs, and caves, 

And dens, in sheepskins and in goatskins clad, 

Were persecuted, afflicted, tormented ; 

Were sawn in sunder, thrown to beasts, stoned, slain; 

Of whom the world was not worthy. And God 

Doth see. Parched was the ground, — no rain the heavens 

Afford, — hot as a furnace glowed the sun. 

And there was dearth and famine in the land ; 

Men's hearts did fail for fear. The Earth her mouth 

Oped wide and swallowed cities up. 

In ruins broken down the walls, and laid 

In dust were palaces. Or deeply sunk 

Beneath the wave were seen their gilded spires. 

The winds, no longer pure, spread death and pain 

In many horrid forms. The leper groped 

Beside the stagnant pool, and bathed his brow. 

Burned with the fire that sears within, and wet 

His parched lips, and cried to all that passed : 

^' Unclean ! unclean !'* The dread sirocco's blast 

In hazy glare laid low the caravan, 

And-sweeping far, entered the camp and strewed, 

Ere battle came, the dead. Smote by severe 

And sudden pain, the strong man gasps in death. 

On every hand are seen the corpses of 

Those who but now had walked as if they feared 

Not boding ills. And, in the streets, they lay 

In heaps. Nor cared the ox for toil. The horse, 

At large, select's his food as suits him best. 

Nor yet observes his master, while doth rage 

The pestilence. Man flees his foe and seeks 

Escape. Inveterate the plague pursues 

Him still. No place is sacred, — none where he 

Can find retreat secure. And now the ships 

Rode free upon the surge, and careless of 



28 GUILT. 

The guiding helm. At length was stayed the stroke, 

That desolation should no more invade 

The land. The city Guilt for ills reserved 

Was at its highest pitch of power and pride ; 

Excessive were her luxuries, vain her 

Displays. These draw afar the idle crowds, 

Whose envious eyes behold profuse the stores 

Of untold w^ealth. The nation's eager thirst 

For spoil is roused, and then confederate 

They form, and like a pack of hungry wolves 

Descend for plunder. Yet the pass with troops 

Was guarded well by land, by forts the pass 

At sea. But when the foe arrives, with ease 

Do bribes compass what might could never do. 

Thus soon the gates give way, and then in flames 

Were wrapped her domes, in gore was laid her sons. 

With spoils enriched, his homeward way the foe 

Pursues. Before him songs proclaim his deeds. 

Behind, the vulture reaps the last rewards 

Of victory. An age went by, and Guilt 

Again walked through the streets that once belonged 

To her ; he called his name upon. And lo ! 

In ruins mouldered pleasant palaces. 

And where was once the scene of gayety 

Was now the den of unclean beasts, the cage 

Of unclean birds. Heaps stood in place of walls 

And fortresses. The ruin wide brought back 

Reflections of her ancient state, for here 

Were broken columns, ruined arches, — these 

Immense in magnitude, were wrought in forms 

Of beauty, symmetry, and grace. 

Guilt smiled as he surveyed the wreck, nor stayed 

More time than would suffice to overlook 

This vast and dreary solitude of art ; 

Then straight he went his way to other lands. 



IL FENSEROSO, 



29 



IL PENSEROSO. 

From murky towns afar I rove, 

*Mid forest shades, where wood-nymphs oft 
Steal forth, with footsteps fleet and soft, 

And beauteous forms of fondest love. 

Where pale wild flowers do sweetly bloom. 
And mosses, every hue, are spread j 
Where bowers protect my aching head, 

And silence reigns and twilight gloom. 

Who shall from this, ^^The muses' seat,'' 
Tempt me to stray through dusty fields, 
(Though wealth the daily travel yields,) 

And leave this blest obscure retreat? 

Alas ! I must full soon exchange. 

For bliss, for love, and ^^ sacred song,'* 
A war for conquest with the strong, 

Among a people rude and strange. 

Through dusty streets my feet must go. 
Through dull and dreary towns afar. 
Though wearied all my senses are. 

And though my heart be full of woe. 



3* 



30 



FAIR Y-LAND. 



FAIRY-LAND. 



In the dells my feet have wandered, 
Seeking for the pretty Fairies, 
Over hills of greenest verdure. 
Over meadows soft as velvet : 
Gayest landscapes lay before me. 
Brightest flowers, and glades the deepest ; 
Light, the mildest, there was streaming, 
Brooklets ran with music sweetest. 
And a song I could not hinder 
Woke the echoes from their slumber. 

^* Oh, Fairies bright, with eyes of light. 

And wings of gossamer; 
Now tell me true if I may view 

The place your dwellings are. 

That pretty place your blithesome race 

Have chosen for their clan 
Must be as nice as Paradise, — 

Delightful Fairy-land!" 

Soon a voice, beside me singing. 
Made reply in dulcet music ; 
Like the sound of bells of silver, 
Struck with lightest tiny hammers : 

^^In childhood's way the Fairies stray, 
The livelong happy hours ; 

Where lovers walk, where lovers talk, 
Or rest in sweetest bowers. 



MARGARET. 31 

Should waking eyes their forms surprise, 

Now standing still or sitting, 
Then soon you'll see that they will be 

Flying swift, or flitting. 

In dreams alone behold their throne, 

Among the mighty mountains ; 
There is their queen, the fairest seen. 

Beside the sparkling fountains." 



MARGARET. 



'Tis autumn's saddest days. The wintry frost 
Hath blasted leaves and flowers, and mournfully 
The wind sighs o'er the wreck of beauty lost. 
Now oft the rain, with sombre clouds, we see. 
As even nature not from pain was free. 
But wept pure crystal tears, her hapless doom j 
And life resigns the plant and aged tree ; 
Earth shall, with vestments clean and white, full soon. 
Commit herself, with all her frailties, to the tomb. 



II. 

Yet there shall stand, amid this dreary waste. 
The hardy shrub, all freshly green and fair; 
Defying snow and ice, and in the face 
Of death inhale the freezing wintry air. 
This shall no useless weeds of mourning wear. 



MARGARET, 



But richly dressed in nature's livery; 
Think not its icy heart no grief may share : 
Its drooping boughs shall hang all tearfully 
Above the earth, where even they will buried be. 



III. 



This is, in truth, a melancholy tale ; 
Let those unused to weep at fancied woe 
Pause here ; for even now bright cheeks are pale, 
And eyes all wet with tears are drooping low, 
That fate should ruthless mark her courses so. 
There's mourning in the stately Gothic hall j 
The door soft closes, and the foot falls slow, 
And by the cottage gate there winds a pall ; 
The country suffers from a common, hapless fall. 



IV. 

'Twas said that Henry Osgood, Alfred's sire, 
Was of a family in standing good : 
In England, he had been at least a squire, 
But early traveling amid these woods. 
He came to where an humble cottage stood. 
Where dwelt a Frenchman, who had fled before 
The Revolution ; which, with scathing fire, 
Hath swept the land. He landed on our shore 
With his two daughters and his wife, and nothing more. 



He left in France his goods and his estate. 
And left a noble's ancient, worthy name; 



MARGARET, 



33 



But goods and titles all were confiscate, 
And none are left to prove his ancient claim. 
He called himself DeLambert, when he came, 
And seemed to bear complacently his lot. 
He wrought to soothe, not change, his hapless fate ; 
The neighbors helped to rear his humble cot. 
Where love alone was left to consecrate the spot. 



VI. 



It was a thing both strange to hear and see. 
The meeting of these men of foreign birth, 
Whose feud hath been the nations' rivalry ; 
That hath robbed both of much their dearest worth, 
And left full many a corpse upon the earth. 
The Frenchman, at his ease, led the discourse, 
Was elder far a nobleman, — and he 
Knew well the power of tyranny — the source 
Of frightful discord, and of man the fatal curse. 



VII. 



Too near the throne, he felt not unconcerned. 
That when it fell its props should be cut down. 
And, skilled to mark the public mind, he turned 
To see if aught of safety for the town 
Remained. To his experienced eye, around 
The horizon were naught but tempest clouds, 
With fire surcharged, that, fanned, would blaze and burn 
Amid the havoc of a glutted crowd. 
While greatness should betake itself unto the shroud. 



34 



MARGARET, 



VIII. 



'Twas thus he said he left his native shore, 
^ Exchanged a life of pomp and peril for 
The wilderness ; exhausted all his store 
Of means, until he learned to levy war 
Upon the forest tribes, rich bearing fir. 
His daughters, too, acquired the art to spin ; 
And, when the long day's toils at length were o'er, 
He took more comfort then his cottage in. 
Than e'er in youth he had in Paris reveling. 

IX. 

And Henry now forgot his prejudice, 
And to the fair Annette full soon was wed. 
She was the younger ; had the softer eyes. 
And gentler voice ; was called the sweetest rose 
Of all the gay profusion which composed 
The court of France. The other was, 'tis true. 
Less fair. But then, a close resemblance 
Existed between these sweet sisters two. 
With hair luxuriant of darkest raven hue. 

X. 

Long years are past since Henry saw his prime ; 
And, of a numerous family. 
But one survived, Alfred, and he a fine. 
Athletic youth as you would wish to see. 
His father thought him quite a prodigy : 
He had his mother's hair and eyes of jet, 
A form true to the sculptor's rule and line, 
A temper where the graces all have met : 
What more is needless praise and vain additions set. 



MARGARET. 



XI. 



35 



DeLambert and his wife are gone to rest, 
Within the churchyard's quiet, peaceful shade ; 
No more with cares of state or friends distressed. 
The birch-tree shades the spot where late the spade 
Hath formed for them their last sweet heritage, 
And early strews its leaves upon their bed, — 
A covering that doth lightly press 
Upon the spot where lie the noble dead. 
That once were little less in power than crowned heads. 

XII. 

A marble slab proclaims their virtues, yet 
Not all ; nor all their nobleness of heart : 
Nor these in pompous phrase were duly set, 
But simply told the stranger that a part 
Of nature's honest, rarest workmanship 
Was here reposed. Near by were lesser mounds; 
The largest of these was Alice's, whom regret 
We all. An angel she, which doth account 
Why she should seek so soon her native mount. 

XIII. 

There is to some a grace divinely lent, 
Like flowers that early brighten to decay. 
Too pure for love's warm breath, or love's intent. 
But which doth draw admiring eyes away 
From grosser forms and more enduring clay. 
Now Alice lived until her sixteenth year ; 
Her steps did lead wherever Alfred's went. 
She shared his daily toil, his hopes and fears. 
His childhood's waywardness in sunshine and in tears. 



36 MARGARET, 

XIV. 

She was his elder by three years'; and when 
She faded, like to some midsummer's dream, 
Leaving the senses half-bewildered then. 
If she a real presence e'er had been. 
Or some reflection from a world unseen, — 
Then Alfred sought companionship with those 
Among the neighborhood, whom he might deem. 
Where none were rich he little had to choose, 
And all were ignorant alike of virtue's foes. 

XV. 

Yet these were not the world's dull peasantry, 
But people from whose loins statesmen have sprung. 
And warriors of renowned ability, 
And orators, upon whose words have hung 
Admiring senates, those have poets sung : 
Their care with schools their offspring to provide. 
And leave them wise, as well as great and free ; 
With skillful hands their fortunes to decide. 
Amid life's boisterous waves and ever-veering tides. 

XVI. 

There was, from Henry Osgood's residence. 
Distant a mile, within a pleasant vale, 
A cottage, of no very great pretense ; 
Who entered there found welcome, never fail. 
Its occupant was William Doane, a hale 
And thrifty man, who lived with all in peace. 
And lent his surplus to his needy friends, 
And took in payment note, or bond, or lease. 
Or mortgage, which he deemed were good securities. 



MARGARET, 37 

XVII. 

His native home was by the Kennebec ; 
And from the land of steady habits he 
Had emigrated with his wife, to seek 
A kinder soil, where honest industry 
Returned the husbandman a larger fee. 
A daughter shared their smiles and household cares ; 
Of quiet, gentle manners, Margaret 
Was to the whole community endeared ; 
And rarest beauty was to her the gift of years. 

XVIII. 

Hers was the very soul of loveliness. 
Expressed in firm, yet calm and living clay. 
A Venus, nor with care or love distressed, 
No flashing warmth o'erspread her cheek, to stay 
A moment there, and then to fade away. 
Like sunset glories joined to silver sheen, 
Of grandeur's airy domes entire possessed. 
She walked 'mid nature's handiwork, and seemed 
In humble homes, or palaces, a regal queen. 

XIX. 

Dear Susquehanna's vales, my native clime ! 
Where else should beauty find her dwelling-place? 
Where else should poesy beguile the mind 
With dreamy visions, while doth run apace 
The sands of life, as yet, to naught but waste ? 
Ye are the work of the enchanter's wand. 
Whose mystic power hath never painted space 
More picturesque, with primal forests crowned. 
Or with the harvest sheaf of golden ingots bound. 

4 






38 MARGARET, 

XX. 

He who hath lost upon the toilsome road, 
Must back return, and search about, 
Lest he to market come without his load ; 
So I must now retrace my steps ; no doubt 
My story's heavy freight hath fallen out. 
Three pupils sat with books, and map, and slate, 
In Henry Osgood's elegant abode. 
And there Mademoiselle Marie sedate, 
Annette's sweet sister, toiled for them early and late. 

XXI. 

These three were Alice, Alfred, Margaret ; 
The last a child with pretty, winning ways. 
And harmless innocence, a chosen pet. 
And when the gentle Alice left — her days 
Were then divided : half at home she stays. 
The other half was with these dearest friends ; 
And Alfred early came, the sun as yet 
O'er the horizon scarcely seen to bend, — 
With her he goes, with her returns when day doth end. 

XXII. 

With him, it was a boyish pride to walk 
Beside her then, beguiling her of fear. 
And entertaining her with cheerful talk. 
He was her elder more than three full years ; 
She was to him a sister, far more near 
Than sisters mostly are, or seem to be. 
'Twas thus it happened: she was taught 
French, Latin, painting, and embroidery, 
With music, mathematics, ethics, history. • 



MARGARET, 



XXIII. 



39 



It was the autumn, and some years have passed 
Since Alice's death ; the nuts are on the ground, 
And withered leaves are strewn by wintry blasts : 
As thickly they are lying now around. 
The foot doth press them with a rustling sound. 
The husbandman, now cheerful, counts his store, 
And reckons how much better than the last, 
This autumn's gain ; how much to add, before 
He will enlarge his farm one hundred acres more. 

XXIV. 

The apples, dropping from the parent tree. 

Require the aid of willing, youthful hands ; 

From far they gather for the rustic bee, 
. In groups arrive, those hale and gleeful bands, 

From, hillside farms and river bottom-lands. 

Thus Alfred joined his comrades on one eve ; 

The next, and he was halfway to the sea ; 

His sad farewell his friends at home receive. 
As from his father, mother, aunt, he takes his leave. 

XXV. 

He stopped at William Doane's, to say farewell 
To Margaret, and bade her think of him 
Until he should return. He could not tell 
How long his stay would be — at least some years ; 
Thus bade the youth the child adieu. Benign 
His smile, expressing all a brother's heart ; 
A tear stood in his eye, and then it fell ; 
Yet manfully he tore himself apart. 
To tread the hallowed shrine of learning and of art. 



40 



MARGARET. 



XXVI. 



There is a sickness, like some mystic spell, 
Comes o'er us when we leave the parent roof, 
No more for us beneath its shade to dwell, — 
No more the tender word, the kind reproof. 
For faults that could not keep the heart aloof, — 
A sad reflection that the world less kind 
Shall meet us, and that death's drear, hollow knell 
Shall hide from sight some loved and valued friend, 
Whose memory within our hearts is sacredly enshrined. 

XXVII. 

Five years were passed ere his return ; each brought 
Its change, and, when they all at length were spent, 
He, with degrees from Alma Mater, sought 
Again his native land, now scourged and rent 
By the grim hand of war which God hath sent, 
To make us just unto the toiling poor. 
Whom He regards with constant, tender thought; 
For His elect hold not high seats of power. 
But dwell content within the quiet cottage door. 

XXVIII. 

E'en as he crossed the threshold of his home, 
He felt a loneliness within, for they, 
The comrades of his youth, away were gone. 
Their names enrolled upon their country's page 
Of honor, or asleep within her graves. 
A wail. came from the prisons, where grim want 
Of food its thousands slew, with slow but none 
Less sure and mocking torture, while their gaunt 
And bloodless frames did wander moodily and faint. 



MARGARET, 



XXIX. 



41 



Yet Alfred strove to cheerfully discourse 
Of sights and scenes in Europe, and forget 
His country's needs; and yet each sad reverse 
Brought a new sorrow to his honest heart. 
At length he asked that he might now depart, 
To join the soldier's long and weary march ; 
To share his tent, his toils, his viands coarse, 
To bear his luggage over woodland marsh, 
And thus with patience build their triumphal arch. 

XXX. 

His father gave consent, reluctantly ; 
And he enlisted and was soon away, 
Yet ere he went he called once more to see 
His friend, sweet Margaret. She had that day 
Returned from where the Kennebec doth stray, 
'Mid forest mountains and delightful vales. 
One sound alone in all there seemed to be, 
The sound of clashing arms, of warriors' mail, 
Or of the widows' and the lonely orphans' wail. 

XXXI. 

''Had I but seen her," he pondered oft. 
As forth he went, ''I had not joined the ranks; 
But now to well deserve of her, aloft 
I'll climb ambition's airy way. Her thanks 
Shall be my chief reward." He reached the banks 
Of the Potomac's fearful, bloody stream. 
And soon, by deeds of daring, gained the first 
Promotion ; and as death and wounds did seam 
And rend, he upward rose in rank and in esteem. 

4* 



42 MARGARET, 

XXXII. 

At length there came the warm and gentle spring, 
And with it, peace ; with banners torn and gray, 
And homeward marches brave men welcoming. 
Then for the nation in its holiday 
Arose a fearful dirge^ as shrouded lay 
Its ever kind and honored magistrate.. 
The days sped on, and good and ill they bring. 
To flowers succeed the chilly winter's hate, — 
So man doth bow before the dark decrees of fate. 

XXXIII. 

Alfred now sat at home, a wounded man. 
As weeks flew by not much of strength returned ; 
His breast, from which the life-blood freely ran 
On the last battle-field, now seemed to burn 
With smouldering fire and lambent flame. 
Which lighted up his face, like to the glow 
When evening gilds the clouds surcharged with rain ; 
While darkness gathers thick and fast below, 
The harbinger of dreary night and bitter woe. 

X X X I v. 

Yet oft he spoke in cheerful tones, of past 
Delightful scenes, and of the field of strife ; 
Spoke of the mighty chief, whose skill at last 
Succeeded in preserving whole the nation's life; 
Whose calm resolve was stronger than device 
Of wily foes, or chiefs renowned of old; 
Exemplar that the simple virtues hath^ 
Whose honor may be neither bought or sold 
By bribes of power or heaps of glittering gold. 






MARGARET, 



XXXV. 



43 



The tranquil radiance one summer's eve 
Stole through the leafy screen, suffusing all 
The arbor with a halo such as weave 
The fairies in our dreams, as night doth fall, 
In viewless silken curtains from the wall 
Of God's empyreal domains. There sat 
Alfred and Margaret. Hand doth cleave 
To hand, and while the day advances late, 
A lover's tale is told and love bewails its fate. 

XXXVI. 

^^I've loved thee, dearest, kindest Margaret, 
With love too pure for earth, too strong for death : 
For soon I must go forth to join the great 
And ever-marching ranks, devoid of breath ; 
Yet I will wait thee there where God hath said. 
There is no pain, no sorrow's fearful blight, 
To damp our joys j where love is only met 
By love eternal, 'mid the spheres of light. 
Where joy's unmixed with grief, to day succeeds no night. 

XXXVII. 

My life's a sacrifice to liberty ; 
The world shall date good government begun 
With this, the greatest act of history. 
Wherein hath been achieved the rights of man. 
The martyrs of this war shall lead the van. 
'Tis sweet for one's country to die : yet sweet 
'Twould be to live, blest with thy company. 
No more ! no more ! I fear thou shouldst regret 
My fate, and haste my shade beyond the tomb to meet." 



44 MARGARET, 

XXXVII I. 

To these words Margaret did not reply, 
But starting up and bidding him good-night, 
Returned unto her home ; tears in her eyes 
Stood trembling, yet restrained, so that they might 
Not witness bear to any other sight. 
And Alfred sought his couch, from which, alas ! 
He never more went forth until the day 
When he Death's open gates was called to pass. 
So fades man's glory, like as to the tender grass. 

XXXIX. 

The autumn came ; and when the chilly wind 
With storms of sleet and frost had turned the leaves 
A russet hue, one eve we went to find 
Alfred was dying. O'er him much did grieve 
His parents and his aunt, sole relatives. 
And he, their hope, cut off in early years 
Of manhood's usefulness. The neighbors kind 
Stood round with words of sympathy. Their fears 
In whispered tones expressed, or silent dropped their tears. 

XL. 

Farewell ! Thou sleepest in dreamless slumber crowned 
With laurel wreath, — thy name enrolled within 
Historic page, — peaceful sleep ! The mound 
That holds our soldier's dust shall ever be 
To liberty a consecrated shrine. 
The bard of future times, with sweetest lay, 
Shall mark your battle-fields as holy ground. 
Your deeds redeem from memory's decay, 
And shed the bright effulgence of eternal day. 



LINES. 



XL I. 



45 



Farewell, sweet Margaret ! No lips of thine 
Have told the tale of early love's distress ; 
But o'er thy countenance a glow divine, 
Of resignation and of gentleness. 
The fruit of keenest suffering, no less 
Hath blended all thy charms, and added grace, 
Until thy wondrous beauty peerless shines. 
Saintlike and sad, that seems on earth misplaced : 
That thou shouldst have a form of clay, an angel's face. 



LINES 



WRITTEN ON HEARING OF THE PASSING OF THE LOCAL 
OPTION LAW. 

King Alcohol ! King Alcohol ! 

You must die, you must die; 

There's a portent in the sky, 
There's a writing on the wall. 
Your doom is sealed, King Alcohol ! 

Against the sky in early morn 

Your towers stand gloomily, 

Blighting inhumanly 
The tender ears of growing corn, 
Shutting out light from the early morn. 

Your palace gates of solid brass 
Shall be rent asunder ; 
And the world shall wonder, 



46 JULIE. 

As through the armed soldiers pass, 
Through massive gates of solid brass. 

From out your courts ten thousands pour, 
Ten thousand mailed retainers. 
Ten thousand wild wassailers, 
Ten thousand prisoners of yore, — 
From the jaws of death ten thousands pour. 

The mouth of hell agape doth stand, 
Foulest fiends surround thee. 
Strongest bands have bound thee ; 
Thy form henceforth on Lethe's strand 
Terror's fit monument shall stand. 



JULIE. 



View the blush-rose at morning's hour, 
That hath unfolded, 'mid the shower; 
And sweetly smiles to meet the sun, — 
View that bright rose : there is but one. 

In all the season's beauties' spread ; 
In all the Earth gay carpeted ; 
There's only one — there is but one — 
One — fairest rose beneath the sun. 

Thus, Julie, — thus, in life's sweet morn, 
Wast thou with every grace adorned ; 
While lesser lights around thee shone, 
Thou wast thyself compared — alone. 



INSECT LIFE.— MUSIC, 



47 



INSECT LIFE. 

In sunshine on a summer's day, 
The insects dance the hours away. 

Their graceful movements oft beguile, 
With endless labyrinths, the child. 

And music joins in the excess 
Of their bright voluptuousness. 

And I have thought, could courts indeed 
Enjoyments such as theirs exceed ? 



MUSIC: 



OF NATURE. 



When worlds were new, when time was young, 
The morning stars together sung. 

Earth's woods, and waves, and mountains hear 
The music of the distant sphere. 

And each, and all together join, 
In chorus the orchestral throng. 

A Master's hand directs the whole ; 
The parts assigns, — to each his role ; 



48 MUSIC, 

Bids thunders shake the solid ground, 
And ocean's surge on reefs resound ; 

Bids tempests roar, bids zephyrs sigh, 
And brooklets join in melody. 

All nature, first made to agree. 
Retains the soul of harmony. 



THE END. 



